


warmth

by rexflame



Category: Thrilling Intent (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Other, Trans Character, a lot of liberties have been taken here for the sake of a modern au but i am very fond of it, runaways - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 10:58:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13480074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexflame/pseuds/rexflame
Summary: aesling seems to draw people to her -the misfit types, anyway.(on finding a family, and making your own, in a wild and cold world.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (spreads my arms wide)  
> welcome to my first attempt at posting a multi-chaptered fanfic since i was fifteen!  
> i hope to keep this updating, at least for a little while, and i really hope this is something people enjoy. i think i took some weird liberties with ages and changing characters' roles for a modern au, but, i'm very happy with what i have so far.  
> thanks for clicking on this, and welcome to the journey!

Aesling has an unfortunate habit of picking up strays.

 

It’s a rainy Friday night, biting and cold, when she adds another to her gang. Ashe walks down the sidewalk from her bus stop, umbrella forgotten at her side, taking a moment to breathe in the dewy air and occasionally drag a worn-out sneaker through a puddle. It’s a childish sort of glee, but neither Markus nor Kyr nor Inien are here to see, and two of the three would’ve probably joined her. Sidewalk cracks make a sort of game as she steps lightly over them, remembering faintly years of self-defense training, forgotten in elementary school memories.

 

By the time she makes it to her apartment building, her jacket is plastered to her shirt, and her hair lays miraculously flat against her head. The scrunchie that normally keeps it in place is solidly stuck to it, so she shakes her head a bit like a dog as she scuttles under the awning, wrestling with the tie with one hand and gripping her umbrella still in the other.

 

She’s so preoccupied with her fight with her hair that she hardly notices the other figure there.

 

It’s disconcerting when she does notice him - he’s a boy, dressed in a red hoodie and ratty jeans, soaked as much as her. His sneakers look as worn as Ashe’s own, and he’s staring vacantly out into the night, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He can’t be older than fourteen, Ashe thinks, and then thinks about the time, and decides to do something that’s damn near  _ Markus  _ levels of stupid.

 

“Hey, kid! You alright?”   
  


After opening her mouth, she immediately internally curses herself. He probably just lives in the building (even though she’s never seen him, even though it’s one in the morning and freezing cold and pouring rain.) And she’s a complete stranger, and an adult - she’s no stranger to the idea of being a troubled teen, diving through schools and running away from every life that seemed to be given to her far too easily.

 

But the kid  _ doesn’t  _ flinch away, miraculously, just turns his eyes to hers and cracks his face into a smile, his eyes lighting up. He waves awkwardly.

 

“It’s kinda cold,” the kid says, still smiling, a slight lisp to his tone.

 

“Do you have the time?”

 

Ashe pulls her phone out. She has two missed calls from Markus, and twenty-seven texts from Kyr.

 

“One thirty-three,” she supplies.

 

The kid pauses, raking a hand through a ratty ponytail that falls far down his back. He’s slouched awkwardly - she wonders if he’s hurt. He turns his face up to the sky, looking very dazed, moving slowly, as if in a trance.

 

She’s glad for her nursing studies, then, if only because she notices just before he collapses.

 

Ashe dives to catch the kid in her arms; he’s worryingly light. It’s like carrying Markus, but with more hair and more clothing, she thinks. Scooping up a limp body in her arms is awkward at best, and she makes another split-second impulse worthy of Markus himself.

 

With some stiff shuffling, and some concerning movements of the limp stranger, she manages to get up to her and Markus’ apartment. She’s grateful that she normally doesn’t like to carry bags with her - it’d just make this task harder, although having a first aid kid would be beneficial.

 

Ashe kicks their apartment door three times, knowing Markus is awake, and not particularly caring about their neighbors.

 

“Jeez, Ashe, a man needs his beauty rest!” Markus begins when he opens the door, looking perfectly immaculate and very much not like someone who had been rudely awakened from anything.

 

“Did you forget they key agai - oh.”

 

His voice drops to a soft whisper when he takes in Ashe dripping on the carpet and the boy in her arms who’s somehow even more soaked. It’s an odd moment, Markus, lost for words, and Ashe finds it decidedly disconcerting.

 

“This is serious,” he adds, voice a sort of stage-whisper, and Ashe shoots him a look that she hopes communicates ‘yes, it is, and please move out of the doorframe so i can set this kid down.’ 

 

Markus moves. Ashe reminds herself that Markus can sometimes be smart.

 

She moves briskly past him, moving quickly for the couch and setting the boy down on it. He makes a soft groan, and when she presses the back of her hand to his forehead, he’s got a running fever. Likely did far before she met him, and it can’t have gotten any better, standing in the rain like that.

 

“Do you know him?” 

 

Markus is hovering, staring over Ashe’s shoulder instead of making himself useful. She wants to tell him to get dry clothes or call this kid’s parents - but neither of those are apt or wise. Undressing some kid she doesn’t know, or rifling through his pockets. Still, he’s got a layer on under his sweatshirt, so she wriggles it off of his limp form, and then listens to his chest. Rattling and wet and weak breaths. Her expression fades, and earns her another comment from the Markus Peanut Gallery - “that bad?”

 

“Might be pneumonia,” Ashe replies, standing up and pulling a blanket off the back of the couch, settling it over the kid.

 

“Might just be a really nasty cold. I don’t know enough to say.”

 

She exhales heavily, and Markus puts a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently and then quickly letting up. 

 

“I’ll stay up with him, in case he wakes up in the night,” he says, softly.

 

“You have class in the morning!” Ashe protests.

 

“So do you,” counters Markus.

 

Ashe sighs. There’s no fighting with Markus and winning - or at least, winning with her dignity intact, and no sparkles stuck in her hair. At the thought of her hair, she dimly remembers the hairtie stuck in it, and tries to rip it out once more, this time with more success.

 

“Fine,” she says, throwing her scrunchie in Markus’ direction as she walks past.

 

He catches it easily, and does a mocking little bow.

 

“Markus Velafi, at your service!” are the words still echoing in Ashe’s ears when she crawls into bed and dozes off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hello! My name’s Gregor Hartway.”

 

Markus blinks sleep from his eyes as he hears the cheery voice.  There's a hand on his shoulder, a strong grip, shaking him gently awake.  For a moment he thinks it's Aesling - but he knows Ashe’s name, and in a flash remembers the stray they'd picked up.   _ Shit _ , he wasn't supposed to fall asleep.  

 

He twists his neck, hearing it crack, while the kid - Gregor - stares at him wide-eyed. He still looks a bit delirious, from what Markus can tell, but his degree is in legalese and decidedly  _ not _ medicine.  

 

“I’m Markus Velafi,” he says, finally, going with the no-glitter introduction and offering Gregor a hand.  

 

The kid stares baffledly at his hand, and Markus quickly makes the motion into one of running a hand through his hair.  

 

“You aren't even going to ask where you are?”

 

Gregor purses his lips for a moment, stumbling back onto the couch as he does so. 

 

“Well, no one hurt me. And I still have my stuff! So you guys are good people.”

 

Markus stares intently at his face, looking for some sort of tell of lying - but there's nothing but open and clean honesty, almost a bit off-putting.  And a black eye beginning to form under Gregor’s left eye, but mostly, the sincere trust he has in some strangers.  Just how bad off had this kid been?

 

Well, that's not Markus’ business, or not right now.  He pushes himself out of his chair, doing an odd stretch and feeling every muscle in his back protest with the effort.  

 

“You want some water?” he asks.

 

“Not thirsty,” Gregor mutters in reply, so Markus gets him water anyway, because he  _ does  _ understand and know the concerns of dehydration.

 

He sets a glass of water and some ibuprofen on the end table, and Gregor eyes both warily, like he's never seen a pill before.  Markus sighs, and faces the kid, palms up and open.  

 

“You said we didn't hurt you.  Trust me on this - drink some water, take that, and go back to sleep. You'll be feeling better in no time!”

 

Markus can't resist adding that slight Velafi flair to his words, a grin and a wink on his face, but it makes the kid smile and reach for the water, so he figures it's worth it.  He'll have to show him some card tricks later, he thinks, settling into an armchair and reaching for another couple hours of sleep.  

 

Markus is woken up again by someone shaking his shoulder, this time far more forcefully, and feels his hair tug from when it got caught in the slats of the chair.  

 

“ _ Fucking hell-!” _

 

“Good morning to you too, sleeping beauty. Forget to braid your hair?” 

 

Ashe smirks, looking down at him, her hands on her hips.  There's a glimmer in her amber eyes, and Markus sighs, heavy with exhaustion. And his stiff neck.  

 

“I was a little occupied with the kid sleeping on our couch,” he grumbles, although not unkindly.  

 

“What time is it?” 

 

Gregor is still asleep, he notes out of the corner of his eyes. Ashe shimmies her phone from her pocket while Markus cracks his neck.  

 

“Eleven fourty-three,” she supplies.  

 

“Did he wake up?”

 

“Yes, and - wait, that late?! Fucking hell, Ashe, I  _ had class. _ ”

 

She shrugs, that sly sylphid smile on her lips again.  Markus knows she does these things out of caring, out of her own little way to say she loves him, but sometimes he wishes she wouldn't decide what's best for everyone else.  Those kinds of stupid impulses are his job.

 

“Did he say anything?” Ashe continues, nonchalant and ignoring Markus’ outburst.

 

He combs a hand through his hair, wincing when his fingers catch on the tangles. 

 

“Does the name Gregor Hartway mean anything to you?” Markus asks, attempting his sort of cocky shrug with only one shoulder.  

 

It fails miserably, considering his other hand is still stuck in his hair.  Ashe snorts and pulls a comb out of her back pocket.  She waggles it in his face, and he snatches for it desperately, removing his hand from the knots to do so.  

 

“I can't say it does,” Ashe replies, when Markus has finally started hacking away at his hair; she’s looking at Gregor with a soft fondness in her eyes, a gentle worry. 

 

“Is that his name?”

 

Markus nods - or tries to, but winces when he catches a bad tangle, and grits his teeth. 

 

“Well,” she muses, leaning back on her heels.

 

“This is a bitch of a situation.”

 

They both laugh. Humourlessly.

 

“I’ll ask Thog tonight.  He's got…” Ashe clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth.  

 

“Connections.”

 

“Connections,” Markus echoes with a ghost of a smile.

 

Ashe leans over, takes her comb back from him, and begins running it through his hair, soothingly, while he rests his head against her shoulder, dozing in comfort.  


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thog appears nonetheless

Work is busy.  

 

Well, it's always busy, working at the Nine Shrines Bar (a name Ashe still doesn't understand.) From dusk to dawn, it feels like the stream of people is never-ending, and she sighs as she shakes another drink together in her hands.  At this rate, she won't even get to talk to Thog. 

 

“Aesling!” she hears him call over the din of the bar.  

 

“Shit, sit down for five minutes, will you? You're fuckin’ relentless over there. Don't think those drinks owe you any money.”

 

“I need to talk to you!” she shouts back, wincing as the yell tears at the back of her throat. 

 

He groans in reply, then grunts and gestures over his shoulder with a thumb.  Ashe takes that as a cue to take her break, and does just that, pushing her way out from behind the bar; Moren is shoved unceremoniously in after her. He grins and shoots her a hesitant thumbs-up. She exhales her thanks to him, lost amongst the clamor, and slips out back.

 

Thog waits out there with a cigarette dangling precariously between his fingers. His breath fogs up the night air with smoke, and she coughs a bit at the acrid smell.

 

“Make it quick. I’ve got a bar to run,” he grumbles to her.

 

Ashe inhales deep, and then, in a cascade of words - “Iaccidentallyfoundachild.”

 

“You - slow down - wait - you did what?”

 

Thog raises the cigarette to his lips and stares her down. Ashe swallows. She doesn’t know what the right answer is, in this situation.

 

“I, uh…” Ashe rubs at the back of her neck.

 

“There was a kid, standing on the steps of me and Markus’ apartment building, and he passed out? So I took him in. Accidentally.”

 

“How the fuck,” Thog says, punctuating each word, “do you accidentally take in a kid?”

 

Ashe gives a halfhearted shrug and doesn’t meet his gaze. He gives the most tired sigh she’s ever heard from him, and then he drops his cigarette, stamping it out against the pavement.

 

“Don’t make me regret asking this, but, what the shit does this have to do with me?”

 

“I need to know who he is. Why he was just standing there - I have a name.”

 

They go quiet for a few moments. The bar noise feels distant behind them, and Ashe is caught up for a moment in the sound of cars whizzing past and the glow of the city at night. An artificial trance. 

 

“Well, take your sweet time telling me.”

 

Ashe swallows.

 

“Gregor Hartway.”

 

She still doesn’t know if Thog is even going to help, but his silence is telling. He’s thinking. It’s better than an outright ‘no’ - and she knows he has a good heart. She’s trusted in him before, and she’d do it again, just as she’s doing right now.

 

“I’ll keep an ear out,” he says, finally.

 

“Get back in there - and get back to work.”

 

Ashe flashes him a smile that’s somewhere between relieved and grateful, and he waves her off while taking a box of cigarettes from inside his vest pocket.

 

The smell of smoke clings to her for the rest of the night, but she finds she doesn’t mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gregor perspective!

Gregor Hartway misses his cat.

 

He’s been sleeping on a couch for what he thinks is two days, and that’s fine with him. The couch is comfortable, and there are a lot of blankets, and one of them has  _ dragons  _ on it. He likes dragons. He wishes they weren’t always evil in the storybooks.

 

He’s had food, too, even if it’s mostly just broth. The woman with the frizzy white hair frowned and listened to his chest, but she hasn’t made him take off his shirt, and she gave him his sweatshirt back after drying it. The Markus man gave him pants, too, which he had to cuff up three times to fit.

 

But they don’t have a pet, and Gregor likes animals.

 

Animals listen, he’s found. They don’t tell lies, and they don’t tell adults. They sit next to you and they don’t judge - and they’re not confusing, like people are. People have a lot of layers, and sometimes Gregor doesn’t understand them. Animals are all good, he knows, but sometimes people are evil, and more confusing of all, to him, is that sometimes good people do evil things.

 

He thinks up all this while in a fever haze, and when he finally sees the world clearly, the first thing he notices is that Dont isn’t there.

 

“I need to go home,” he says sternly to Markus, when the man brings him another pill and some water.

 

Markus nearly pours the water all over himself. Gregor doesn’t understand the issue. The man takes a breath - Gregor isn’t sure if he’s tired, or something else - and settles down into a rickety old chair. It makes a screech under his weight. Gregor feels bad for the chair.

 

“And where would that be, exactly?”

 

“Um…” Gregor hums for a moment, putting a finger to his chin.

 

“I don’t know where it is, from here. Where is here, anyway? I got on the first bus.” 

 

Markus’ face twists into an emotion that Gregor recognizes - worry, alarm. The man exhales heavily, and leans back a bit, folding his arms.

 

“You’re at me and Ashe’s apartment - that’s in Gloucester. Can you tell me how old you are?”

 

“Seventeen,” Gregor beams. 

 

“My birthday is in October. And I live west of here, in Lenox.”

 

His face falls, then. Does he live west of here, anymore? He doesn’t remember what his grandfather had said, or why - he just remembers running from the house, and onto the nearest bus. Without anything but his wallet and his hoodie. Without Dont.

 

“I need to go get my cat!” he says, more forcefully this time, and attempts to push himself to a sitting position; he’s more successful than he has been in the past day. 

 

Markus puts a hand on his shoulder, and Gregor is easily pushed back down. He feels weak. Sick.

 

“You’re not going anywhere like that, kiddo. C’mon, calm down a little - I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

 

“She.”

 

Markus frowns.

 

“Alright, she’ll be fine. Do you want to talk about why you’re here?”

 

Gregor bites his lip and reaches for the glass of water, sitting himself up again to take the pill along with it, and then lays back down. The dragon blanket is within arm’s reach, and he grabs it, pulling it around him. He rolls away from Markus.

 

The couch cushions darken his vision. He likes that. 

 

Gregor waits to hear Markus walk away before he relaxes, feeling sleep reaching for him again, and before he falls asleep, he wonders at it.

 

Markus had seemed so nice, so why would he ask something so mean?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> markus makes a phone call!

Markus groans as he starts his second pot of coffee.

 

He doesn’t know the time, and he’s stopped keeping track. Sleeping is hard in their shitty wooden chair, and harder still when he wakes up every time Gregor coughs. If this is what having a kid is like, Markus thinks he’ll be fine never being a parent. 

 

The microwave beeps, and he grabs the water desperately. If Ashe were here, she’d get on him for using a  _ microwave,  _ but their coffee machine has been broken for six months now. He blames Ashe for not letting Kyr fix it.

 

Ashe says Kyr would blow it up, but that’s one opinion of hers he chooses to ignore.

 

The kitchen soon smells warmly of coffee, and it makes Markus smile as he opens the fridge. The container of vanilla coffee creamer is almost empty, which is a tragedy he needs to remedy, and he dials a number into his phone as he works on pouring coffee into a cup.

 

_ “Markus! Hey, buddy!”  _ a cheerful voice answers, distorted by static; Markus balances his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he reaches up to grab the sugar.

 

“Kyr! Glad you answered. You’re still coming over tonight, right?”

 

_ “Aw, hell, is it Friday already? I almost forgot!” _

 

“That’s why I’m here - to be the wonderful Kyr Fiore’s calendar. Say, you don’t mind there being someone else here, do you?” 

 

Markus pours more sugar into the cup than could ever be considered healthy, and then puts it back. 

 

_ “Someone else - oh! Did you or Ashe finally get a date? Or do you have some sort of archrival you have to occupy, or -” _

 

“Not quite,” he chuckles, pouring vanilla creamer into his cup - Kyr’s excitement is endearing.

 

“You know how Ashe does that thing where she pretends she doesn’t care but then she’s adopting every stray she finds?”

 

_ “Is that a metaphor?” _

 

“Yes, Kyr.”

 

_ “Then yes, I do!” _

 

Markus takes a deep sip of his coffee. It burns the back of his throat. He smiles and takes another drink.

 

“She’s, uh...there’s this kid, a near stranger, sleeping on our couch, right now.”

 

_ “Ooh, so like a mystery? I like mysteries! Also, uh, Markus?” _

 

“Kyr?”

 

_ “I know I’m always up late, and I was up anyway, but do you think you could give me a warning before you call me at three fourty-seven in the morning?” _

 

He curses himself under his breath.

 

“I didn’t notice the time, Kyr - I’m sorry.”

 

_ “No sweat! Did you have anything else you needed?” _

 

“Can you get me more of that vanilla coffee creamer? I just ran out.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> markus and ashe share a moment.

Ashe hums to herself as she walks home from her bus stop.

 

It’s a song from her childhood. She has a vague memory of her father singing it to her. An Irish folk tune - she knows that much, but can’t remember the words. Still, it puts a spring in her step, and she dances around yesterday’s puddles, swinging her arms at her sides. Her steps end up matching the beat, and she’s almost tempted to dance. Almost.

 

She hasn’t danced since junior prom - with a certain Markus Velafi - and she isn’t about to break that streak now.

 

In that moment, her phone buzzes - speak of the devil, or think of him, she supposes. It’s unsurprising that the caller is Markus, given that only three people have her cell number. That, and Markus is the only one who’d be awake at this hour. Probably.

 

“What’s up?” Ashe says, casually, answering the phone - she gets a whine from Markus in response.

 

_ “Kyr’s coming over today.” _

 

She can practically  _ hear  _ Markus dragging a hand down his face. If it were any other situation, she would’ve laughed at his suffering. In a friendly way, of course. 

 

“And what about Gregor?”

 

_ “He knows about the Gregor situation - I just called him. Well, actually, I just meant to ask him to buy me some coffee creamer, buuuuut…” _

 

“You told him!” Ashe snaps.

 

A lone pedestrian stares at her. She ignores their look and stamps a sneaker against the pavement. Instead, she hits a puddle, and soaks her pant leg.

 

“He - he blabs! We can’t let people know, what if someone thinks we’re kidnappers, or, fucking hell, calls someone on us!”

 

_ “Ashe,”  _ Markus’ voice comes through infuriatingly calm.

 

_ “I get that you’re worried. But we told Thog, though, didn’t we? And Kyr’s our friend. We have to trust people, sometimes, and we can’t sort this mess of a situation out alone - we’re fucked six different ways, with or without help. I know you know that.” _

 

There’s only one thing Aesling hates more than Markus Velafi.

 

Markus Velafi being serious, for once, and being  _ right.  _

 

“I know,” she breathes, feeling the cold air clear her mind.

 

“I know you’re right, Markus, I’m just…..scared. I don’t know what to do.”

 

_ “Well, you’re lucky you’ve got me - honestly, where would you be without having such close ties to the Velafi name?” _

 

He’s posturing, she knows. He’s scared, too - but they both want to help Gregor. Want to do right, for once. That’s what counts.

 

_ “Also, you know -”  _

 

Markus’ words are cut off by a loud slurp, that makes Ashe wince and hold her phone away from her ear.

 

_ “That k- Gregor, is older than we thought. He says he’s seventeen, turning eighteen next month.” _

 

“There’s no way. He looks, what, fourteen?”

 

_ “You aren’t giving him enough credit. He’s pretty damn tall - and strong, for that matter.” _

 

She waves a hand in the air, dismissively, forgetting Markus can’t see her.

 

“I guess he’s just got a babyface. Be home soon, by the way.”

 

_ “Thog kept you really late, huh?” _

 

“Yeah,” Ashe says, softly, tilting her head back.

 

The sky this night is cloudless, and she feels some sort of warm tug in her stomach when she looks at it. She thinks about the billions of flickering lights and the nonsense of the infinite, thinks about the people waiting for her at home - one family, one...she doesn’t know what Gregor is for her, yet, but he’s something. Someone for her to protect, maybe.

 

_ “Ashe? You okay?” _

 

In her reverie, she realizes she’s stumbled to their apartment building - she leans against the wall for a moment. 

 

“I was just thinking.”

 

She’s not ready to go inside and upstairs, not quite yet.

 

_ “Penny for your thoughts.” _

 

She hears the sound of Markus setting his cup down. It crackles against her speaker, but it’s a warm feeling - she can feel the sincerity, the rare calm, that takes over the older man. It makes Ashe smile.

 

“I was thinking about family,” she says.

 

There’s a pause, and Ashe listens to the wind through the tree leaves as her phone clock tics over to four in the morning.

 

_ “...me, too,”  _ says Markus.

 

They both laugh, then, even though they don’t know why. The feeling is odd - Ashe knows she could just run inside right now, take the stairs two at a time, and hug Markus tight, but she  _ doesn’t.  _ She just sits there, touching him with her voice and her soul and not a single piece of her body, and she knows he understands. He’s always been the more poetic of the two. He’d get it.

 

The moment is broken when Ashe remembers that Kyr is coming over later. And that both her and Markus have to be awake and aware enough to deal with the whole Gregor situation.

 

“Shit,” she mutters.

 

_ “We need to sleep,”  _ Markus laughs at the same time.

 

“Don’t forget to braid your hair.”

 

_ “I won’t.” _

 

“Oh, and Markus?”

 

_ “Ashe, I saw you outside. You can just come up.” _

 

“I know.”

 

She scuffs the toe of her shoe against the gravel.

 

_ “What is it?” _

 

“I’m sorry I snapped at you. And… I love you.”

 

Ashe breathes in deep, shaking. She doesn’t want him to misconstrue those words. Hell, she doesn’t know why she said it - except she does. Family is a rare feeling, she knows. Markus has been her family forever.

 

She hears a breathy laugh into the phone speaker.

 

_ “Apology accepted. Love you too, Aesling.” _

 

The line goes dead, and Ashe slides down, sitting against the apartment wall for a few minutes longer. When she finally does go up, she takes the stairs slowly, feeling the metal creak beneath her feet. She pauses outside their apartment door. Taking the key out is slow, and she treats the lock gently, as if it might break.

 

She doesn’t turn the light on, and moves softly through the rooms, the faint smell of coffee filling her nose. She smiles at that. On the couch, Gregor’s chest rises and falls, and she presses her hand to his head, checking his fever. It seems lower, and he seems calmer, his breathing steadied. 

 

Ashe breathes a sigh of relief at that.

 

Before showering, before going into her room and closing herself off, back into that Ashe personal space of the night, she cracks open the door to Markus’ room, peering in. 

 

Markus is splayed across his bed, as ridiculously as ever - his hair is sloppily braided, and falls over his pillow. His face is lit up green by his alarm clock, and Ashe distantly wonders how he can sleep with all that light. He looks peaceful, though. Like home.

 

That night, Ashe falls asleep with a different word in her head - 

 

Family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i felt VERY shy about posting this chapter. i hope it is good in the end!


	7. Chapter 7

Markus Velafi thinks that he would like to kill the man who invented alarm clocks.

 

That, and whoever thought that humans could be awake and functional before noon. He groans, rolling over in bed. His arm smacks against the wall. The sunlight streams in between his blinds as he blearily opens his eyes, still not awake enough to turn off the alarm. For a moment, he simply lies there, letting his eardrums get as damaged as they please as he stares at the ceiling.

 

“Markus!” comes a shout from the room beside his.

 

“Turn that fucking thing off before I show you how!”

 

He groans, rolls over, and slams it off. Ten thirty-seven. 

 

“And here I thought you loved me, Aesling!” Markus calls back; he winces as the words leave his mouth.

 

That wasn’t the best thing he could’ve chosen to mock. Of course he’d just woken up, of course his thoughts weren’t clear - but still. There were some things about tact he could stand to learn. Spending so much time around Kyr didn’t help.

 

“Not enough for this shit!” she yells back, and he relaxes a little.

 

He needs to get out of bed, Markus knows. Kyr is going to be here in two hours. He needs to wake up.

 

Instead, he wonders if Kyr could invent a way to make him become one with his mattress.

 

The thing that does get Markus out of his bed is an odd one. It’s the riff of Stairway to Heaven, wafting gently from their kitchen - it’s a song he hasn’t heard in years. The audio quality is grainy. Ashe must’ve dug out their old radio; what for, Markus isn’t sure.

 

He hears Ashe and an unfamiliar singing voice as he wrestles a turtleneck on, and the radio gets louder as he shimmys into skinny jeans. By the time he’s got socks on and tugs his hair free from his braid, he’s humming along too. 

 

In the kitchen, Gregor sits on a stool, swinging his legs and singing along. He has a decent voice. There’s a scratchy sound to it, probably from illness, but it fits well with Ashe’s singing. She’s moving around the kitchen, and Markus smells bacon and pancakes.

 

“Got out the radio?”

 

Ashe almost drops her bowl of pancake batter, and Markus laughs heartily in the back of his throat.

 

“Gregor wanted some music!” she replies, defensively.

 

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with it. I haven’t heard this song since…”

“Junior prom,” Ashe finishes his sentence.

 

Markus bites his lip. Neither of them speak - thankfully, Gregor breaks the awkwardness. Or at least, the stiff silence.

 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t really like meat,” he says to Ashe, tilting his head.

 

“It feels yucky to me. Is that okay? I don’t want to inconvenience you.” 

 

Gregor swivels in the stool, once, twice, and then resumes kicking his feet. Markus is struck, not for the first time, at how young he seems. It’s almost unnerving, but Gregor is so open that even thinking of distrusting him feels cruel. He’s still a kid, even if he’s older than Markus had thought. A kid who needs help. They’d all - him, and Ashe, and Inien and Kyr and Thog - been there.

 

“It’s fine,” Markus says cheerily, and then shakes the sleeve of his turtleneck experimentally - a deck of cards lands in the palm of his hand.

 

Gregor stares in awe, and Markus flashes him a grin. Seeing the younger man’s eyes light up makes him smile, and he remembers why he’d picked up sleight of hand in the first place.

 

“Markus, don’t do your shitty magic tricks in the kitchen.”

 

Markus’ smile falls as Ashe chastises him while pouring pancake batter into a waffle iron. He grumbles and saunters out of the kitchen by way of response, the final notes of Stairway to Heaven following him. Muffled, he hears Gregor ask Ashe what she means by ‘shitty magic tricks’. He laughs to himself, rubbing glitter off the palm of his hand and onto the arm of the couch.

 

For a moment, he thinks he dozes off, because the music fades away and is suddenly replaced by his phone buzzing. Aggressively. Markus flounders about in a distinctly  _ ungraceful  _ way, trying to get his phone from the couch cushions.

 

He slides the answer button sloppily, slamming the phone to his ear.

 

_ “Hey, Markus! So I’ve been thinking about that kid you and Ashe have, right? Do you guys want some clothes for him? No offense, bro, but your stuff is kinda..”  _

 

Kyr’s voice trails off. 

 

“First of all, Kyr, he’s not  _ our  _ kid. We’re just… watching him?”

 

Markus has always been a convincing speaker, but this is definitely not his crowning moment.

 

“Second of all, there’s nothing wrong with my fashion, although I may have to confess that so many sequins might not suit him.”

 

_ “Great! Do you think he’d like a cape? I have a lot of capes.” _

 

Markus’ eyes light up.

 

“Kyr, has anyone ever told you that you’re wonderfully  _ brilliant _ ?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise i'll explain junior prom eventually


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kyr fiore is gay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY I ACCIDENTALLY FORGOT ABOUT THIS FIC I HAVE TO GET BACK INTO IT I'M SORRY :')

Kyr ends his call with Markus feeling satisfied.

 

Markus has that effect on people, making them feel warm and smart. Or maybe just on him? Kyr isn’t sure. But Kyr Fiore isn’t sure about a lot of things, and when he isn’t sure, he conducts experiments. He just hasn’t figured out how to test this one, yet.

 

He sets his phone down on the counter, and then looks at the list sitting on his counter. He has a lot of lists, actually, scattered about his kitchen. There’s four on his fridge alone. Another paper, taped over the stove, says “EAT!!!” in Markus’ looping cursive. It might be a fire hazard. He’s still not sure.

 

Shaking his head, Kyr snaps himself back into the present. A pencil dangles idly from the corner of his lips as he looks at the sheet before him:

 

  1. MARKUS’ NASTY COFFEE STUFF
  2. a cape. two capes?
  3. dragon nightlight (patent pending)
  4. old pants?
  5. that red and grey baseball tee



 

Three of the objects are already sitting on the table - two capes, one navy blue with sloppy gold stitching, and another in a bright red - a nightlight he’d made himself, with some woodcarving from Ashe, that projected a dragon onto the wall - and his old red and grey baseball tee. It could have more mechanical devices, but all in all, he’s satisfied with it.

 

Kyr breaks away from his glory to stare at the stove clock - eleven-oh-three. 

 

That leaves him about an hour. Well, it’s fifteen minutes to Markus and Ashe’s apartment, but he has to buy Markus’ Coffee Stuff. And he has to mentally prepare for meeting the kid. 

 

Kyr isn’t good with people. He chews on his pencil eraser as he thinks about this, about weird social conventions he doesn’t understand and never will. He’s okay with that - he trusts in Markus and Ashe - but he doesn’t want to make a bad impression. He breathes in shakily.

An eraser shaving catches in his throat, and he coughs, throws the pencil down, and jumps to action.

It takes him the full hour he has left just to get ready. Kyr is quick to fall into his own thoughts, and he ends up sketching blueprints on notebook paper while brushing his teeth. He stumbles into his shoes, not bothering to lace them, and just barely makes it out the door at noon. There are at least four sheets of paper sticking from his pockets at odd angles. 

 

He fumbles through his sweatshirt pockets for his keys, and succeeds in pulling out two dollars in change, a ball of lint, two pens, three nuts, a large rusty screw, and a monkey wrench, all of which he dumps unceremoniously on his littered garage floor. His keys, of course, are at the very bottom.

 

The car sputters to life with a decidedly alarming noise. Kyr feels bad for the poor old machine.

 

He follows a familiar dirt road and leans his head out the window, breathing in. It smells like rain and makes him smile, faintly - he loses himself like this, a lot, nothing but him and the outside air and the thrum of machinery. It’s a comfort. A small thing in a big scary world.

 

Time flashes behind him as he dimly makes turns at intersections and waits in traffic as he enters the city. He pays more attention to the cars than anything else. Not their proximity to him, not out of any sort of worry - he simply notes down makes and models and tires with a distant smile.

 

Kyr parks with one tire on the curb and remembers that Markus needed coffee creamer.

 

Their apartment is easy enough to get to - and he’s got a spare key by now - and Kyr lets himself in, shutting the door gently. The clothing, which he’d only barely remembered, balances awkwardly in his arms.

 

“Markus! I forgot your coffee stuff!”

 

Markus’  head bobs around the half-wall between their kitchen and the entryway. He twirls his hair up into a bun with one hand, and Kyr swallows. Hard. He doesn’t get what being pretty is, to society - it doesn’t make sense to him. And he’s only ever really liked men.

 

But he knows that Markus is  _ gorgeous. _

 

Kyr unceremoniously dumps the mishmash of fabric in his arms onto the rickety old armchair. His heart is pounding deep in his stomach, and he looks away. A stool scratches in the distance, and there’s soft humming. He takes a deep breath.

 

A hand with glittery purple fingernails waves an eight of hearts in front of his face.

“Is this your card?” Markus Velafi asks him, cheekily.


End file.
